


Triskaideikaphobia

by LokisGirl



Category: Metallica
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom!Lars, Dom/sub, Dubious Morality, Flogging, M/M, Verbal Bondage, sub!james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisGirl/pseuds/LokisGirl
Summary: When James gets out of control, people get hurt. Lars keeps him on a short leash. It's a good thing James enjoys following his commands.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted, James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 20
Kudos: 11





	1. Down, James!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jahlu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jahlu).



> You asked for James/Lars. This is what I had kicking around. It might not be exactly what you had in mind. 
> 
> (Posted elsewhere 2014-ish.) If anyone wants new material, shoot me a prompt!

This particular scene started after they arrived at the hotel from an interview at a local TV station. The interviewer had certainly done her research. There had been a long series of pointed and painful questions for James about his behaviour on tour that he responded to with anger and defensiveness. Metallica’s parties are private, not like some bunch of glam rockers who want the world to know how hard they party. By the time the interview was over James was seething. He was wearing his “I want a drink now!” face. The only way to stop James from losing control was to take it from him. The second the hotel room door slammed behind them, Lars took over. James made a beeline for the minibar, but Lars had other plans. James hadn’t gotten across the room when the measured tone of Lars’ voice reached him. “On your knees. Now.”

James slowed. Lars slapped a hand on his own thigh, hard enough for the sound to crack. James hit the floor like a ton of bricks. Head down, breathing rapid and ragged. 

“Good James. Thank you. Take your shirt off.” Lars admired the smooth lines of James back as the black Diamond Head t-shirt slid over them. He strolled over to rake his nails up James’ skin and yank his head up, one hand buried in the thick waves of hair. Pure evil danced in Lars’ eyes as he reached for his belt buckle, slipping the black leather through the loops on his pants. Dragging the supple leather along James’ shoulder blades, he continued speaking, hard edges in his voice that no interviewer had ever heard. “Who do you belong to?”

James answered quickly. “You, only you.” Lars didn’t miss the slight movement as James licked his lips at the end of his words. The normally icy blue of his eyes was transformed in the fire of submission, glittering with lust. Those eyes got Lars every time and his control slipped as he dipped down to kiss James hard on the mouth, biting at his lips. 

“Right. Me.” Lars let go of James’ hair to rummage through a suitcase, tossing a few items onto the bed in James’ line of sight. A deadly looking single tailed whip, a dragon tail, a set of heavy leather wrist shackles, and a purple suede flogger about two and a half feet long, all waiting for James’ torment to begin. 

He fastened one of the restraints around James’ wrist, tracing small circles on his palm with one fingernail as he did so. The light scratches were enough to elicit a tiny groan, barely audible in the quiet of the hotel room. Lars ran his nails up James’ arm, savouring the shiver that caused James to bite his lip in anticipation. He buckled the other restraint, tugging on the thick D ring attached to the side to check the shackle’s security. The slight pressure on James’ wrist brought out a most unusual sound, one Lars had only ever heard from James: a pleading growl. Lars picked up the dragon tail, spinning it in a figure eight for a moment to get the motion right before applying it deftly to James’ naked back. The wrapped leather making up the “tail” part of the dragon tail sang loudly as it slapped against James. It barely changed the colour of James’ pale skin, but that didn’t matter- for him it was all about the sound. A strangled ‘Mmm’ caught in James’ throat as Lars slapped him with the dragon tail one more time. Lars felt his heartbeat speed up as his own arousal mounted. James flexed his shoulders, cuffed wrists held crossed on his chest. Lars followed the movement of his shoulder blades with heavy fingernails, drawing angry red marks. James’ only response was to bring his head up, breathing hard. Slapping the marks he’d just left produced real cries, though it was debatable whether they were pleasure or pain. Dropping to one knee, Lars ran a light hand over James, testing for hot spots on his skin. Not finding any, he checked in with his submissive anyway. “You okay, James?” He paused to bite at the blond’s neck just below his ear. He continued, whispering “You want some more, don’t you?”

Lars rose to his feet, dropping the dragon tail on the bed as he came around to stand in front of James. He looked down at James, whose eyes were wide and wet, frantic. A bead of sweat ran down his chest, delineating a tantalizing path leading to the taxed button on James’ jeans. The tight fabric stretched over his erection served to emphasize rather than hide his arousal. Lars swallowed instinctively, vivid memories of the salty sweet taste of James on his tongue flooding his system with endorphins. Time for that later. He needed to be in control for now. 

Lars gave no hint that he was going to give an inch. James was right where Lars wanted him, on his knees and nearly crying he needed release so badly. The heavy leather cuffs around each wrist weren’t hooked to each other, nor was James tied down. His submission was completely mental. Lars had worked long and hard to train the tall blond, slowly leading him step by teasing step into giving up control. Now all Lars had to do was speak to him in a particular stern tone of voice for James to drop to the floor. Lars smiled down at the man who could break him with a single punch, flicking at his naked back with a heavy suede flogger. The flails barely touched him, but James still gasped in pleasure. “What do you say, James? Hmm? Have you forgotten your manners?”

“No, Lars. Please,” James’ voice was pleading, uncertainty broadcasting his need. His eyes flicked up to implore Lars to do something, anything. His strong shoulders shook a little as he tried to maintain his composure. Lars made the rules, and he was going to follow them.

“Please what? What do you need James?” Lars was calm, or at least he looked that way. Watching James kneel before him with those desperate eyes sent waves of power through his body that crashed into his groin, making him almost as hard as the submissive before him. 

“May I taste you, please?” There was no denying the hunger in James voice. It hadn’t lost any of the growl that made Lars melt, and the extra care James put into minding his ps and qs added an edge that you just couldn’t get with casual language. Who knew good manners could be such a turn on? Lars stepped closer to James, not letting go of the flogger, letting his arms hang at his sides. James leaned forward and pulled at the fly of Lars’ leather pants with his teeth, freeing the button. He managed to get the zipper down without using his hands. Lars shifted his weight a little, easing the pants enough that his cock was free. He bit his lip until it was bloody to contain the gasp that rose in his throat as James licked him from root to tip, then took him roughly into his mouth, scraping the entire length with his teeth. Lars clenched a hand in James’ hair, pulling a little to maintain his balance. James was in his element, using his tongue on every spot that made Lars scream. He took a tiny breath and did his best to swallow, opening his throat to take in as much of Lars as he could; his throat constricted around Lars’ head. Past the lights bursting behind his eyes, Lars heard himself give another command.

“Touch yourself.” James obediently went to work divesting himself of his denim, without stopping his ministrations on Lars’ pulsing cock. He got his jeans down around his thighs before giving up, wrapping his long fingers around his own erection. The simple touch of his own fingers nearly overloaded his system. His breathing stopped for a moment, his eyes glazing. “No, James.” Lars’ voice was sharp. 

James growled, practically barking his disappointment. The vibrations in his throat went directly to Lars’ nerve endings as James somehow managed to lick and suck simultaneously. Time stood momentarily still as a powerful orgasm rocked his compact frame. He dug his nails into James scalp as he cried out. Drawing a shaky breath, Lars opened his eyes to see a look of defiance creeping into the blue eyes he knew so well. 

Lars brought the flogger down as hard as he could with his limbs feeling like Jell-O. Slashing diagonally across James’ tenderized flesh, switching from one shoulder to the other, using enough force to raise a welt this time. Slap! Slap! Looking down, he watched James grip the base of his cock harder than absolutely necessary, using the pressure to prevent himself from coming. He slowed down his punishment, lightening his strikes.

He drew himself up to his full height and used the deepest voice he could muster. “What’s rule number one, James?”

James looked up at him like a kicked puppy. “No orgasms unless you say the word.” His shoulders sagged in frustration. His hand ran up his hot hard flesh as though it was a wounded bird. He dropped his head straight back, squaring his shoulders again. A teasing grin formed itself as he leaned back to offer Lars a better view of his lean frame. Dragging slow fingers up his torso, he caressed the slight ridges of his abs and the sharp edges of his ribs, James paused to twist his own nipple between thumb and forefinger to the great amusement of Lars.

Lars shook his head as he did up his leathers. “I said no. Stop being such a brat.” Lars adjusted his t-shirt on his way to the door. He had a hand on the knob when he heard the sound. The noise James only made when he was in genuine distress. It was better than any safe word. A low mewling sound like kittens trapped in a grave, tearing right through all of Lars’ better judgement. Lars flicked a glance back over his shoulder, taking in James’ new position. James had curled himself into the fetal position so tightly his knees were touching his forehead. Lars’ resolve melted.

He sighed. “James?”

“Yes?” James muttered. His good manners were evaporating along with the scene. Lars smiled the devilish grin again.

“Triskaidekaphobia.”

James convulsed, a full body orgasm ripping him to pieces from the inside out. He shook for a full minute, completely insensate to the world around him. By the time he recovered, Lars was on the floor beside him, waiting to take James’ head in his lap. He stroked the sweaty blond hair back from James’ forehead and gently wiped some come off his cheek. Kissing James softly, Lars checked in once more, just for good measure. “You okay, min ven?”

James looked dazed, still floating in the submissive head space. The big white smile lit up his face from the inside.


	2. Why Would You Do That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason discovers James' secret, almost breaking Lars' control. It has unfortunate consequences for poor James.

Lars looked over at his bandmates. Fucking immature idiots. Kirk was sprawled out on the blue industrial carpeting, looking drunk or passed out, and James and Jason were sitting beside him playing Bloody Knuckles. Bloody Knuckles of all fucking things. He watched them line up their fists- James pulled back an instant too slow and Jason yanked his hands out of the way in time. It would really be all they needed, for James or Jase to wind up with broken fingers in the middle of a tour. He heard James’ rumbling laugh. For some reason it pissed him off. Here he was, cell phone practically grafted to his ear, doing band business in the middle of the goddamn airport while they goofed off. Fuckers. How did he always wind up the one doing all this shit? 

He looked up from the papers on his lap, prepared to give the boys his patented Ulrich Death Glare. They weren’t there. Two seconds. That’s all it took for them to run off like fucking children. He looked down the rows of chairs to the next gate. No sign, nor any hint the other way. How had they gotten away so quick? Lars began to feel the familiar tightness in his chest, his breaths coming shallower as panic began to rise. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean. Come on, breathe deep. Inhale, one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three, four. He looked again. No James. He had a passing mind picture of James on his knees in a bathroom stall, deep-throating a wild eyed Jason. Lars blinked, shaking his head to empty his thoughts. The fear and panic continued to rise. He pinched his cheek. When that failed to distract him, he tried talking to himself again. Come on, it’s fine. Chill out. They aren’t doing anything. Are they? 

The rational part of Lars had had enough of this crap. He steadied his shaking hand, and brought it down sharply on his thigh. Smack! The sound of his open palm on his leather pants was louder than he expected it to be. A split second later, he heard another noise behind him: the familiar thump of someone hitting his knees. 

Oh shit. Lars whipped around, dropping his phone in the process. Sure enough, James was on his knees, coffee spilt on his white Justice t-shirt, looking simultaneously aroused and stricken. Lars clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. James’ skintight jeans only concealed so much. Jason was taking in the scene with bewilderment. His head twisted from side to side: James, Lars, back to James, Lars again. He shook his head once, hard, and went to help James up. 

“You okay?” Jason leaned in and pulled James up by the arms. 

James nodded slowly. “Just a little light-headed,” he deflected. He ran his free hand through his blond locks. Making his way around the end of the block of chairs, he sat beside Lars. Silently, he passed Lars the steaming coffee cup. It was only three-quarters full now.

“Thank you, James,” Lars said politely, using a slightly-less clipped version of his play voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trigger you. You may go.”

Standing behind them, Jason smirked. He cast an evaluative glance down James’ long body. His normally sunny grin had a slightly evil twist to it. Jason straightened his face carefully and crossed to dump his lean frame on the floor beside Kirk’s prone form. Placing one of the coffees he carried directly in Kirk’s line of sight, he started poking at his bandmate. Kirk wrapped a hand around Jason’s long finger. 

“Poke me again and die!” Kirk’s dark eyes opened a crack.

“Poke you and die? What are you, the Pillsbury Dough Boy?” Jason pulled his hand away as Kirk smiled, reaching for the coffee. Jase put an arm around Kirk’s shoulders, supporting him as he made his way to the land of the living. An indistinct voice announced boarding for their flight.

Kirk passed back out again pretty much as soon as they took off, and James did the same. Jason and Lars played cards for a while, until Lars felt good enough to dig back into the paperwork. They discussed a few issues, and Lars realized that there was a reason Jason had taken Flotsam & Jetsam all the way to a record deal without hiring a manager- he didn’t need one. Newsted had a good head on his shoulders, understanding fine points of the contracts before Lars himself picked them up. Lars wondered what else Jason picked up without letting on. The flight was over quickly, and after they disembarked, found their bags and a cab, discussion turned to rooming arrangements. They agreed before the tour started to alternate roomies so as not to get on each other’s nerves, but hardly ever remembered who’s turn it was to bunk where. Drawing straws was not an option for unspoken reasons. 

“’Kay, so you were with James yesterday, Lars. That puts you with me tonight. It’s my turn to get the beer, not that I need any!” Kirk winced at the thought. Hair of the dog had never been his favourite hangover cure. He knew that bunking with James would mean a long night of heavy drinking, and he was pretty sure that would hurt a lot. 

Lars nodded, a guilty expression flitting across his features. A wide grin broke on Jason’s face as he high –fived James. “And it’s your turn to buy too!” he exclaimed to James. “Sweet!”

James laughed. “You just better keep up this time, Newkid. Last time I bought, you wasted most of it puking!”

“In my defense, there was liverwurst and sauerkraut involved that night. That’s enough to bring anyone down,” Jason protested. 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, dick.” James’ smile put the lie to the put down. “I’ll just keep the Jager for myself tonight. Wouldn’t want to upset your delicate constitution.”

James continued ripping on Jason good naturedly for a few more minutes, until he got in a shot that got under Jase’s skin. He dropped the comments with the words, “At least you’ll fucking stay up! These two wimps pass out after the first case!”

Jason lay on his hotel bed listening to Elvis on the radio while James showered before dinner. He was pondering the events at the airport. Something was up, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t low blood pressure or not enough sleep. Jason was pretty sure it was kinky. What he wasn’t sure of was how to find out for sure. It couldn’t be as simple as any loud noise dropping James to the floor. The idea of that was enough to bring his smirk back- he could picture the scene: 40,000 screaming fans, then the pyro goes off. Boom! Hetfield on his knees in front of all those maniacs. It’d be enough to start a riot. Jason bounced up and began digging through his bag. He wanted a different pair of jeans to go out in, if they were going to end up in some dive bar shooting pool all night, being able to bend over was a plus. He slipped his heavy leather belt out of the loops on his jeans as his thoughts drifted again. He idly folded the belt double and snapped it. A loud crack rewarded his efforts. It was kind of fun, so he did it again. Hearing the shower go off, he quickly stripped off his jeans and slid the fresh pair on, not bothering to button them yet. He was still holding the belt, about to wind it around himself, when something made him stop. He paused a moment, waiting for James to open the bathroom door. When the tall blond stepped out, Jason snapped the belt. He was instantly shocked.

Crack! Boom! Just like the airport. James was on his knees in a split second. Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring at his normally self-possessed friend down on the carpet like a naughty child. He couldn’t help himself.

“James, have you been bad?” he teased. His reddish hair shook as he laughed. This was fucked up! Hetfield’s some sort of super submissive? Hell must have frozen over.

James hung his head. He didn’t reply.

Jason smacked the folded end of the belt into his palm experimentally. James shuddered. Jason dropped his voice to a lower register, giving it a little drawl, forcing James to listen. “What’s the deal here, James? You some kinda pre-vert?”

James didn’t look up. He shrugged minutely.

“Well now, I ain’t letting this go. You’re answer my questions like a good boy, else I might hafta use this here strop,” Jason nearly choked on his words, he was trying so hard not to laugh. He managed to contain himself enough to thump the belt into his palm again.

James’ reaction to the sound was interesting, to say the least. He squared his shoulders, raising his head, even though his eyes were riveted to the carpet. “Yes, sir,” he breathed.

“What’s that? Speak up, boy!” Jason put a hand in James’ hair, pulling his head back so that James was forced to look up at him. The blue eyes blazed with defiance. Jason was definitely playing with fire. He wasn’t sure he could stop. The power was going straight to his head, and not the one with his brain in it.

“Yes, sir,” James spat, imbuing the words with more sarcasm and disrespect than two syllables should be able to hold. 

Still pulling his hair, Jason lost the hokey tones. His normal voice was soft and almost concerned. “Does this mean you have to do what I tell you?”

Shame flared in his friend’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Is this fun for you? Being here like this, with me?”

“No, Sir,” James breathed. The shame transmuted into something like fear, and Jason’s heart broke. Letting go of James’ hair but leaving his hand on James’ head, he sank to his own knees in front of James. 

“Then why do it?”

James eyes darted left and right before stopping to look directly at Jason. His sadness was palpable. “It keeps me under control.”

Stroking James’ hair, Jason nodded slowly. He’d been a victim of Hetfield’s drunken rages more than a few times. He’d been better lately. Was this why? “This is taking surrendering to a higher power a whole different way than what those AA types mean.”

“It helps, makes me feel like someone gives a shit whether I live or die.”

Jason shook his head slowly. “There are other ways to do that, you know.”

“Yeah, how?” James bit his words. Resentment boiled just under the surface.

Not stopping to think of the consequences, Jason simply leaned forward and kissed James. Soft, warm, caring, with none of the violence that marked the relationship with Lars. James opened his mouth to Jason as strong arms slipped down his back to hold him. Long minutes dissolved as they explored each other. James’ damp towel fell from his hips, his still-damp skin sticking to Jason’s clothes. Sliding his hands up inside Jase’s t-shirt, pressing in closer, needing to feel flesh on flesh, gasping as his insistent erection met the pliant skin of Jason’s belly. Jason’s hands sliding out of his hair, trailing down between them to wrap strong fingers around him. Stroking once, twice, making James moan into his mouth.

James grabbed his wrist, immobilizing him. Breaking the kiss, he ripped Jason’s shirt over his head and pushed him over backwards. “That’s my job,” he whispered, fastening his lips over the other man’s nipple. Jason’s eyes rolled back as he was overwhelmed by the sensation. He propped himself up on his elbow, trying to take some of the pressure off his knees where his legs were folded beneath him. All that did was give James enough room to pull his jeans down to his thighs. He barely had time to register the sensation of his cock bouncing free before James’ hot, wet mouth closed on him. Fireworks exploded in his mind as reality shifted. James sucking cock. James being fucking amazing at it. James sucking his cock. None of these ideas had ever really occurred to him, at least not while he was awake. His insides turned to hot liquid as James swallowed him effortlessly. The smooth muscles of James’ throat contracted, spreading fire radiating from Jason’s core to all his extremities. Jason held his eyes wide open, transfixed at the sight of the manliest man he knew giving a porn star quality blow job. For all people mentioned it casually, he knew that deep throat was a lot harder than it looked. A few girlfriends and the occasional groupie had tried, with results ranging from coughing to the unfortunate woman who had thrown up in his lap. And here was James, taking him right to the base, easy as you please. James withdrew a little, flicking his tongue over the slit, causing Jason to emit a strangled cry that was almost a scream. His hips bucked uncontrollably. James held him, thumbs pressing just above his pelvic bone. 

Neither of them heard the door open. Neither of them noticed Lars cross the room to fish a small bottle out of James’ bag. Neither of them noticed him drop it on the bed beside them before settling himself in an arm chair by the window. 

He spoke calmly. “James, stop. Now.”

James instantly dropped back onto his knees, hands at his sides, head down. It took Jason a second to comprehend what was happening, and then he scrambled away from James. “Lars, I-“

Lars waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Jason.” He paused for a moment before continuing to speak to James. “James, I think you’d better get prepped. Jason’s going to fuck you.”

“WHAT?” Jason’s eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at Lars, incredulous.

Lars smiled impishly. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna check it out. If you thought Hetfield on his knees was hot, wait til you feel the power of him begging you to fuck him in the ass.”

“I, uh, I don’t think-“

“James, tell Jason you want him to fuck you,” Lars instructed. “Do it nicely.”

James shifted on his knees until he faced Jason. Unlike Jason, who had deflated like a balloon with a hole the second he’d heard Lars, James was still so hard his cock was rubbing against his abdomen even when he stood straight on his knees. Jason licked his lips unconsciously. James flicked a dirty look at Lars under cover of his lashes, bowed his head towards Jason, and spoke. His low growl as he spoke made Jason’s dick twitch. The words were the bit that brought him right back where he’d been before Lars interrupted. He’d never heard so much need, so much want, in a human voice. “Please, Jason.”

Lars’ voice was sharp. “Please what, James? Begging is not asking. I told you to ask him nicely.”

Jason caught a nearly imperceptible roll of James’ sparkling blues before the blond tried again. This time he raised his head so he held Jason’s eyes. “Please sir, fuck me like the hungry slut I am.” A tiny sarcastic smile played at the corners of his mouth. Jason got the message loud and clear. James really did want him, and not because Lars said so. 

Jason nodded mutely. This whole situation seemed like a bizarre dream. He was certain he would wake up on a plane with marker all over his face, James and Lars laughing at him. His brain short circuited when James coated his own fingers in lube from the small bottle on the bed and went to work fingering himself. He must be as good at that as he is at head, Jason thought. James had his head thrown back, every twist of his wrist accompanied by gasps and moans. Jason’s fingers flexed involuntarily. He was trying hard not to think about the situation, about his exposure, about the pressure in his groin, the spreading heat of his arousal. He wanted, needed, to give it a couple quick strokes, just a little stimulation to relieve the tension. But. There was Lars. Just sitting watching James finger his own butt, and Jason try to find a comfortable position to be in with his jeans caught around his thighs and his cock on display. He gave up on trying to maintain his dignity. The sight of James, slick fingers sliding in and out spurred him into action. He caught the back of James’ head and kissed him hard. Hopefully their curtain of blond and auburn could block out Lars’ presence. He took James’ cock in hand again, stroking him in a steady rhythm, matching the one James had already set. James’ pulse beat against his palm. Jason tore his lips away, biting at whatever skin came close, neck, shoulder, pecs, as he slid down James’ torso. He dipped his tongue into James’ belly button, traced his pelvic bone, licking his way to wrap his lips around the tip of James’ cock. He licked it at about half the speed his fist moved, causing James’ whole body to go rigid. Pulled up by his arm, Jason found himself led to the end of the bed. James didn’t lie down, simply put his hands against the mattress, legs spread, offering himself. Jason stroked James’ cheeks before spanking him swiftly. James arched his back, and cried out. “Oh yeah!” 

Jason nearly bit his tongue off. He’d heard James makes that exact sound every gig for 6 years. He’d never hear it the same way again. Jason bit his lip to keep a snicker from sneaking out. In for a penny, in for a pound. When was he ever going to get this chance again? He pulled back and smacked James’ taut ass as hard as he could. A red impression of his hand immediately swam up, accompanied by another shout. Jason raked his nails over the outline, James arching further under the weight of his arousal. Jason slipped a finger inside the blond experimentally. James yowled appreciatively. Jason pulled his hands out of the way, gripping James’ hips as he buried his cock deep inside. Sweat dripped from Jason’s forehead onto James’ shoulder blades and ran down his back. Jason’s rhythm didn’t falter as he leaned forward to lick the bottom’s neck and ear. “Oh, fuck yeah,”” James growled. 

Jason reached around to stroke James’ dripping cock. He buried his nose in James’ hair and whispered “Come for me, James, come for me.” He felt James’ breath catch. James was totally silent for a second before making a strangled, frustrated sound in his throat. James rammed his hips back against Jason’s body, turning his face to melt Jason into a deep kiss. Jason came violently, full body spasms wracking his muscled frame as he dug his fingers into James’ flesh. He nearly passed out from the sensation, gritting his teeth against it. He wasn’t going to leave James high and dry after this. No way. Pressing past the momentary discomfort, he picked up his movements, rolling his hips into James a little slower, matching the penetration to the stroking. From out of nowhere, he realized the pattern- Sad But True. Ironic, that the best sex of his life would come from such a dark root. He dismissed the thought and concentrated on making James feel as good as he did. 

James buried his face in the bedding, strong fingers nearly tearing a hole in the duvet. He howled into the bed at full volume. Suddenly he launched himself up the bed, curling into a heap on the pillows. 

“James, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Jason’s first instinct was to help. He hopped up onto the bed, stroking the soaked blond hair away from James’ tear-filled eyes.

“No,” James whispered. “Please stop.”

“What did I do wrong? Are you hurt?”

James shook his head, hurt and frustration mingling in his helpless gaze. Jason realized belatedly that James wasn’t looking at him. He was looking the other direction. At Lars, still sitting complacently by the window, as though watching his friends fuck was a daily occurrence, a slightly boring one at that. James curled even further in on himself, making that pained, strangled noise again.

Lars shrugged, got up and headed for the door. As he passed by the bed, he patted James on the shoulder. “Very good. You’re still following the rules. Thank you.”

“What rules?” Jason asked disdainfully. Lars looked at him as though he was a clueless child. Holding the door open, he tossed his response back over his shoulder.

“Oh, that. He can’t come unless I say so. Basically, you’ve just given him blue balls so bad he won’t be able to wear pants for a week. Isn’t that right, James?”

James answered in a tiny, worn out tone. “Yes, sir.”

Lars slipped into the hall without another word.


	3. Game's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason confronts Lars, and tries his own methods of keeping James out of trouble.

Jason stood under a pounding shower. He had the control cranked as far it would go in the direction of cold, shivering in the spray. The water sluiced over the back of his skull, doing nothing to freeze the rage running through him. He’d never seen anything like the little performance Lars and James had put on. Of course, he was just as guilty, which pissed him off even more. It was supposed to be a prank, get one over on James for all the shit they put him through. He’d seen that look on James’ face, hell, he could still see it if he closed his eyes. All that pain and shame, that hopeless look that gave him no choice but to envelop his friend in strong arms. All he wanted was to make James understand that someone cared about him. And then there was the kiss. Jason hadn’t known he was going to do that until it happened. And after, he couldn’t stop. 

Then Lars ruined it. Jason didn’t understand what kind of hold Lars had over James, but it was iron-clad. Lars’ words echoed in his mind. “He can’t come unless I say so.” What kind of fucked up shit was that? It was cruel and unreasonable. The whole experience left Jase feeling about three inches tall; imagining how humiliating it must have been for James was beyond him. The master of macho forced to beg? Brought right to the shaking edge of orgasm only to be denied? If anyone had told him he’d ever see James cry over being controlled by anyone, he would have laughed in their face. It felt a little like he didn’t know James at all, and Lars even less. The Dane had virtually engineered a rape- he didn’t seem to care if James had actually wanted Jason to fuck him or not. Jason assured himself that no matter how awful the end had been, James had given him that look, the invitation to go ahead, regardless of whatever orders Lars thought he was giving. Jason wondered what would have been different if Lars hadn’t walked in, what would have happened if they were alone. Would James have followed the rules then?

Fuck the rules. Jason decided right there under the needling spray of the frigid shower, that James Hetfield was never going to kneel for anyone ever again if he had anything to say about it. 

Pounding on the door to Lars’ and Kirk’s room, Jason continued to seethe. Kirk took one look at him in the doorway, grabbed his sneakers and headed down the hall, muttering something about how he had no idea and didn’t want one. Marching into the room like a man going to war, Jason met Lars head on. “What in hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Lars shrugged. 

“Does it even matter to you that you’re hurting him?”

Lars shrugged again.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jason shoved the smaller man. Lars took a step back, centering himself. His green eyes flashed, a snarl twisting his lips.

“I THINK I’m the guy who keeps James out of jail. I THINK I’m the one who keeps him from picking fistfights with you, from throwing things at Kirk, and keeps him from killing himself! That’s what I fucking think!”

“While you were doing all that thinking, did it occur to you that you’re hurting him?” Jason roared back. “You can’t do that to James! You’re kicking him like a goddamn stray dog!”

“Does it look like I like it? That I want to treat my best friend that way?” Lars tossed out defensively. 

Jason snorted. “Yeah, that’s exactly how it fucking looked to me. You never asked James what he wanted, or me either for that matter. You just rolled in like it was another of your stupid meetings and started giving orders. You had no business being there at all. You took something that was spe-“

Lars cut him off. “Special?” he finished sarcastically. “Sure it was. You two were going to make sweet tender love and then braid each other’s hair like a couple of girls. Yeah, right. Let me tell you what would really have gone down if I wasn’t there.” 

Lars paused for breath, and Jason kept mum, waiting for him to go on. This ought to be interesting. “What would have happened is this: James would have sucked you dry, gotten hammered, and then beaten you up for being a fag. That’s the true say right there.” 

“He wouldn’t-“

“He would. Wanna see the scars? He stabbed me with a fork because I put my arm around him.” Pulling the sleeve of his t-shirt up, he displayed a straight row of four tiny scars, dots that resembled negative freckles. 

“So you broke him to defend yourself? Is that the idea?”

“Fucking right it is.”

“And the making him cry is just a bonus?”

The fight left Lars’ body visibly. He sagged like an overused couch. Wiping his face with a trembling hand, his reply soft, he crumpled to the bed. “I fucking hate that. We’re the kings of the world. We’re metal, for chrissakes. The Four Horsemen! He should never cry,” he exhaled slowly. “And I should never have to make him.”

“Then don’t. Let me try to look after him for a while.”

“I seriously doubt that you could. The boy’s got issues.”

“Issues?” Jason’s laugh rang bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. Let’s count them, shall we? Drinking, anger, trust, violence… I could go on, but we both know all this. What I don’t know is how you talked him into letting you humiliate him like that. That thing in the airport, when he dropped to the floor like some sort of slave? That was all you, wasn’t it?”

Pride tugged at the corners of Lars’ mouth. “Yeah, I taught him that. I didn’t realize he’d take it that far. I’m not sure he has a choice about his response to those triggers any more.”

“Basically, you’ve turned the mighty Hetfield into one of Pavlov’s dogs? That’s fucking lame. How do you stop it?” Auburn hair hid Jason’s eyes, but his tone carried the message that Lars was going to come up with a way to fix James, and fast. 

Lars stuttered, “I don’t know. I never thought about it. All I ever wanted to do was get him to do what I said. I didn’t think about stopping.”

Jason pushed his hair off his face, and Lars saw the deep sadness it had hidden. Jason looked much older than yesterday, sitting there at the airport playing childish games with their band mate. Guilt folded Lars’ heart, the origami of friendship transforming his desire for control back into the love it came from. “Can’t you just do what you always do? Piss him off so bad he tells you to go fuck yourself?”

Silence rolled between them for a moment. Finally Lars came up with a plan. He picked at a stray thread on the bed spread, pulling the fabric tight for a moment before the thread broke. “I don’t think you’ll like it much.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll have to do something to push him over the edge. It’ll have to be really bad for him to rebel.”

“How bad?”

“Well, after all the things we’ve already done, it’ll take either a trip to the hospital or legit public embarrassment.”

“You can’t beat him so bad he needs a doctor!” Jason protested. “Can’t you just tell him you don’t want to do whatever it is you do any more?”

“Not really. He has to reject the triggers, or they’ll go on working.”

Stress made Lars sweat, causing Jason to wrinkle his nose as the scent of nervous European filled the room. “Ok, Lars,” Jason sank to the bed beside him, “what’s the best plan? This is your deal, not mine. You tell me. I don’t know jack about any of this stuff.”

Lars drummed his fingers idly on his thigh as a plan formed. “You’re going to have to help me,” he said.

A few days later, they were hanging around back stage in the band room, waiting for the show to start. Jason crackled with energy, and a bit of nerves. Tonight was the night. Lars was going to do whatever it was he had to do to release James, and Jason had his part to play. A million ‘what-ifs’ ran circles in his mind, the mental NASCAR race amping him up. What if it didn’t work? What if James got violent? What if he said no? What if- there were too many variables. He caught the drummer’s eye, giving a look of mixed panic and confusion. Were they going to do this? 

Lars rummaged through his road case, cursing. “I can’t find my fucking tape! Where the hell is it?”

Kirk chimed in right on cue. “Didn’t you have it in the van coming from the hotel? It might still be out there.”

“Yeah, maybe. Come for a walk with me so I can take a look for it?” 

“Ok. I want to find vodka anyway. All they have in here is Budweiser, and I’m not feeling it tonight,” Kirk agreed easily, and off they went. 

Leaving Jason, James, and Jason’s mission. He hopped over the back of the rickety couch in the middle of the decrepit dressing room, neatly landing beside the tall blond. James was stretched out with his sneakers on a scratched pressboard coffee table, arms behind his head. Jase waved a can of Bud in front of him, and when James reached for it, he snatched it away. Passing the beer into his other hand, he held it at arm’s length, as far away from James as possible. James reached across him, rolling on top in an effort to get the beer that left him pressed to Jason’s body. James might be a little taller, but Jason had him by a fraction of an inch in reach, and that was all he needed to keep the can away. Jason shifted, winding up with his thigh wedged between James’ legs. He quickly retracted his arm, grabbing the beer with his other hand to keep it behind James’ head, where James couldn’t get it without losing his balance and falling onto Jason full force. Realizing this wasn’t going to work for long, Jason applied his arm to James’ neck in a half hug, preventing him from turning over and bringing their faces together to the point where sharing breath was unavoidable. 

James froze. “What are you doing?” he demanded. His blue eyes darkened as he stared at Jason.

Jason grinned. “Just playin’ with you, man. Chill out,” he laughed, but didn’t release his hold. 

James put a hand on Jason’s chest, moving to push away. His palm was flat in the middle of Jason’s ribs for a moment.

Then James curled his fingers into the thin fabric of Jason’s Metal Church t-shirt, and kissed him wide-eyed. Jason kept his own eyes open, following James’ lead. His free hand found it’s way into James’ hair. He felt the pressure of James’ tongue licking his lips, looking for entrance. Then their tongues met, and the connection between them deepened. Jason was pretty sure he couldn’t blink now even if he wanted to. He definitely didn’t want to. Kissing someone with your eyes open is usually weird, but with James it felt natural somehow. If James wanted to see right through him, that was just fine. 

The hand on his chest slid up to his shoulder, curling around the back of his neck. Nails dug into the sensitive skin a little, creating a moan that James swallowed before it fully escaped Jason’s throat. The crappy couch creaked beneath them as James ground his crotch on Jason’s hip. 

Then Jason made a tactical error. He dropped the hand still holding the full beer down to James’ side, where James immediately managed to grab it. He pulled away from the kiss and chugged half of it still straddling his buddy. Letting out a loud belch so close that Jason could smell it, he kissed him on the forehead wetly. “Thanks for the beer, dick.”

Jason laughed. Everything was good. He could tell exactly how turned on James was from their mini make out session, and it didn’t matter if it went no further. After all, they were in a dressing room. Anyone could just walk in. His mission was accomplished- Lars needed James to “get onstage all horned up.” Jason thought he’d managed that much.

Shortly after Lars and Kirk got back from the parking lot empty-handed and Lars “found” his tape after another search of his gear. They went on right on schedule. The show went off without a hitch until Lars’ drum solo was about to end. Jason and Kirk stood in the wings, watching James banter with Lars as the audience cheered. 

The stage lights bathed James in a hot white light as he made his way back to his spot centre stage. Lars babbled something to the crowd about it being a lucky day. James fed off the crowd’s energy, flooding his system with the excitement of 30,000 people singing his songs. This had started off as a good night, having some time just with Jase, and was only getting better. A random chord coming over the PA told him Kirk was about to come back onstage. He went along with Lars’ banter.

“Yeah, why’s today lucky, Lars? I mean besides the fact that fucking Metallica’s in town with all our crazy friends!”

Lars grinned so wide the people in the nosebleed seats could see the white of his teeth. “Well, James, today’s lucky because it’s fucking Friday. It’s Friday the 13th!” He took a deep breath and said a silent prayer that James would forgive him eventually. “I hope nobody out there is superstitious. You might be afraid of thirteen. That’s triskaideikaphobia, for those that don’t know.”

“Fuuuuuck! No!” James managed not to scream into his microphone. He nearly fell over backwards, staggering as the trigger word sent a massive orgasm ripping through his entire body. Somehow he found himself supported by Jason’s back, leaning on his bassist like rock stars are supposed to. Jase nudged him back to an upright position, and he was sort of okay again. James felt weak, manipulated, and betrayed. The heat of the stage lights baked the sticky mess in his jeans even behind the protection of his guitar. He was itchy and angry, the two feeding back into each other. He strode across the stage with a stony expression, cutting through the backdrop to the little area that housed his extra guitars. If he was lucky, Alie the wardrobe queen would have stashed a clean pair of jeans back here. He found a pair of black jeans almost identical to the ones he wore and swore to himself that she was getting a raise. Stripping the dirty ones off, and peeling his briefs away from his skin, he poured a bottle of water over himself to try and clean up. Clean pants, new guitar to provide an excuse for leaving the stage. 

James came back onstage right behind Lars’ drum kit. James went on autopilot, driven by his emotions. He walked up calmly, grabbed a shoulder and spun Lars around to face him. Leaning in so their faces were almost touching, he growled “Game’s over.” The heavy right hook that followed emphasized his words.


End file.
